A Place Homeless Can Call Home
“Working to end homelessness . . . one cottage at a time.”
That is the slogan of a unique project tucked away on a desolate spit of industrial property a dozen blocks north of the state Capitol.
There, on 2 1/2 acres by railroad tracks and century-old warehouses, is a village of 60 pastel-colored cottages, each smaller than a suburban two-car garage.
Called the Quinn Cottages, the wood-frame structures built two years ago provide an innovative brand of housing for the homeless unlike anything else in the country. But the cottages, operated by a nonprofit organization, are much more than simply shelter.
From the design and layout of the free-standing buildings to the intense, highly structured mandatory counseling and support services, the idea is to attack the psychology of homelessness, promote independence and, eventually, prepare for a permanent move back into mainstream society by the end of two years.
Every detail--the tiny front porches, the “neighborhood” cottage clusters, the nooks and crannies inside the homes--has a guiding purpose: breaking the shell of social isolation carried from the streets, spurring individuality and stability, and creating homeowner-like responsibility.
“I was living in cars, going from house to house, sleeping in garages,” said Aquilina Lizarraga, 34, who was homeless for four years because of a methamphetamine habit and has lived at the cottages with her husband for almost 18 months. “Now I can’t believe how far I’ve [come]. I’ve learned to be more responsible. My attitude has changed. Before, I didn’t really care.
“I’m more appreciative now and have a new way of living. . . . I’m ready to go on my own now,” said Lizarraga, who is nearing the end of her pregnancy and works as a shift manager at a nearby hamburger restaurant.
The program has attracted national recognition, and the federal government is touting it as a model for other cities.
“We’re more a healing community, a therapeutic community, rather than just a housing project,” said Greg Hancock, executive director of Sacramento Cottage Housing Inc., the nonprofit group that co-owns and operates the village, named after a former local Catholic bishop who often assisted the poor.
“We want the residents to integrate with people, and we do that by incrementally taking them from [their initial] isolation to working with a few people and then with more,” Hancock said.
The concept of the Quinn Cottages took hold in the early 1990s, when Sacramento residents who were helping feed and care for the homeless grew frustrated over a problem they saw repeated again and again.
A homeless person determined to turn around his or her life would scrape together enough money to rent an apartment. But almost invariably, a few months later, the person would show up homeless again, having reconnected with old friends on the street and a lifestyle of drug and alcohol addiction.
What was lacking, say Hancock and others, was housing linked with an ongoing comprehensive support system aimed at preventing the self-destruction and downward spiral.
Transitional housing for the homeless, such as that often found in California and the East Coast, consisted mainly of dormitory-type facilities, converted old hotels or single-room occupancy buildings known as SROs. To the folks in Sacramento, it seemed too impersonal and demeaning.
With the help of architect Brent M. Smith, a plan was developed for small, low-maintenance homes with a combined living room and kitchen, separate bedroom and separate bath, all packed into 327 square feet.
Yet because of the 13-foot vaulted ceiling in the main room and ample use of windows, the cottages are airy and filled with light. The inside walls are articulated, with recesses for things such as a breakfast nook, so as not to look like the inside of a box.
The cottages, which house one to two people, are built in groups of three or four around a common yard, which residents are encouraged to plant and maintain and which also serves as a way of getting residents to interact with each other. The small groupings are part of larger clusters of 15 cottages that make up the project’s four “neighborhoods,” which are connected with walkways to infuse a sense of community.
“We start with the tenant and say that we want to create the most healing environment for someone who is totally disconnected, somebody who may be at the lowest point of their life,” Smith said.
After an intense political battle, the City Council, which controlled the land, approved the $3-million project, using 40% federal funds and 60% private financing. It costs about $650,000 a year to operate Quinn Cottages, half of which comes from private donations and the rest from the federal government.
Getting into the cottages is no easy task, and staying is much harder. Despite the talk about providing a healing and nurturing environment, this is not a touchy-feely program. Demanding, tough love and compassionate firmness are more apt descriptions.
“This is a place to turn around your life if you want to, a place you can really change behavior, but sometimes you have to go through hell first,” said Smith. “This doesn’t happen with hugs. It happens with real hard, tough work. It’s about imparting middle-class values. You show up, pay attention and be responsible.”
In selecting residents, a screening committee looks for an honest commitment to get off the streets, references from agencies or people who have known the homeless person at least six months, and proof that a person has been clean and sober for at least a month.
Resident must pay 30% of their income as rent. Since most are jobless but receive $60 a month from the county in assistance, this amounts to rent of $18 a month.
Once admitted, a resident takes part in a wide range of mandatory sessions. For example, each person has a case manager and there are on-site drug and alcohol counselors as well as people who work on anger management, job placement and teach living skills like handling money and paying off debt.
There are group sessions, required community service such as maintaining the grounds, and a resident council that is involved in creating rules and program compliance. Each week there is a community meal, and a group of residents rotates the task of cooking the meal.
There is also a four-strikes policy. Violate the rules four times and you are asked to leave. There have been a dozen evictions, and others have left on their own.
Taken together, the program can be either a straitjacket or an open door to freedom. Of the 36 people who have “graduated,” only one has returned to a life on the streets, program officials say. The others are out in mainstream society, living in permanent housing, some with full-time jobs.
The need is acute. For a while, the cottages had a waiting list of about 600 people, but officials found that those on the list were turning down other offers of housing to have a chance at the cottages. The list was abolished.
There are about 3,000 to 5,000 homeless people in Sacramento County and 650,000 nationwide. So what can a program with 60 cottages accomplish?
“You address the needs of the homeless community step by step, project by project,” said Hancock, the executive director. “The hope is to develop a realistic way to get people off the street.”
It has worked thus far for Joe Gonzales, a 55-year-old former construction worker who gradually fell into alcohol and drug abuse about two decades ago and wound up two years ago living under bridges and in cars.
“It took me 10 months to get in here,” he said of his immaculate cottage decorated with photographs of his grandchildren. “I’m getting help. They helped stabilize my life. They gave me a chance.”
